Grief & Doubt
by TheSilentSenshi
Summary: After witnessing Boromir’s death, Legolas has to come to terms with feelings he’s never experienced before. [oneshot] -not slash-


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Grief & Doubt  
  
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Summary: After witnessing Boromir's death, Legolas has to come to terms with feelings he's never experienced before.  
  
Rated: PG  
  
Posted: February 16, 2004  
  
Author: Stephie P. a.k.a. TheSilentSenshi  
  
Contact: thesilentsenshi@Hotmail.com  
  
Archive: Sure, just tell me first so I know where it is.  
  
Disclaimer: Unfortunately I can't claim any of the lovely elves as mine, no matter how much I wish I could. Alas, a genius by the name of Tolkien has beat me to it. So, I'm just borrowing them for a little while. I'll return them when I'm through, in relatively worn, but good condition.  
  
Notes: Okay, a little diversion from the 'Of Sam & Elves' series I'm working on, which I urge you to check out if you have some extra time later on. ^_~ The plot bunnies were biting and I couldn't let them go. So here's a short bit of angsty goodness for fellow Legolas lovers! Oh yeah, and this is not slash. I do not support interspecies relationships. -_-;  
  
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Grief & Doubt  
  
I stand back aways watching silently as Aragorn cradles Boromir's limp, lifeless, and blood soaked body in his arms. He let's out an agonized, pained cry of sorrow.  
  
As for me, all I can do is watch, transfixed. My mind is numb with sorrow and confusion.  
  
Elves do not fear death, but neither do we truly understand it. As an immortal race we are rarely forced to come to terms with such things as grief or sorrow. These feelings are wholly new to me, and I find it difficult to comprehend them, let alone deal with them.  
  
Twice now I have lost a companion to this thing called Death. First Mithrandir, fallen into shadow in Moria, and now Boromir, felled by Saruman's foul creations. How am I supposed to get over something I've never had experience with before? Should I cry? Should I scream? No, I feel that that wouldn't help me. I am at a loss.  
  
I am beginning to see and understand now the fragility of the human race. Their lives are but the single flame of a candle which can so easily be extinguished by the barest whisper of a breeze, passing into memory.  
  
Even we Elves are not immune to Death. I know this. I have heard the tales and histories of my people. I have been told of the First Alliance, among others. Indeed, how could I not? Over half of my people were decimated in the span of a single miscalculated battle. Yes, I have learned these things, but hadn't experienced them myself. I was too young at the time of the Wars to carry any lasting memory of it. I suppose I have been sheltered all these years. Even with the encroaching shadow on my lands, it was very rare for one of my kind to perish at it's hands. And when they did, I was not affected personally. I did not see it happen, nor did I know the person well enough for it to truly affect me.  
  
Now, as I stand here gazing upon the glazed unseeing eyes of my comrade, and watch as his blood oozes, still warm, from the arrow wounds, I truly begin to understand.  
  
And it scares me.  
  
For the first time in my long life I am truly frightened, and I do not like it.  
  
2,000 years of experience with nothing to help me get through the turmoil now festering within my own bleeding heart.  
  
How do Men do it, I wonder? How do they deal with death day after day? How can they stand the pain these feelings bring about?  
  
My immortality and ages lived have not prepared me for this. I am not ready to handle such sudden revelations.  
  
The tree's around me feel my sorrow and weep with me. They reach out with their leaves and whispers attempting to comfort my hurting heart. And it does help, in a way. I lose myself in the breeze's sorrowful lament and heed the forests grief. I accept their solace.  
  
For the first time since it has begun, I am beginning to wonder about my decision to join the Fellowship. Everything has gone so wrong. The ring bearer and his servant have left on their own, the other two hobbits are captured, and Mithrandir and Boromir are gone. All that remain of the 9 set out from Rivendell are 3. An Elf, a Dwarf, and a Man. What more can we possibly do?  
  
Perhaps I should not have come. Perhaps I should turn back. But even as I think this, a single tear falls from my eye and slides down my face, as realization dawns.  
  
It's too late for that...  
  
~Fin~  
  
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Background Notes: Probably more movie based than book, but I suppose could be either.  
  
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So, what didya think? Remember, Feedback = Food for the Soul It's probably been done before, but if so I haven't read it, so any similarities are purely coincidental. ~*~Stephie P.  
  
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